I have both desperately wanted to write this, and been dreading the writing of this post since the beginning of September.  I have gone back and forth about whether it was “appropriate” for the internet, or maybe too much information, or if anyone would even care.  But after talking about this story – at length – with a few great and very supportive friends, I’ve decided that I think it’s important enough to be shared, and I guess since I’m the author of this blog, that’s good enough.

This story starts with me on a first date with a man I met through a dating app while living in London.  We talked for about 4 days before we decided to meet for a drink at one of my local pubs.  I was having dinner with a girlfriend beforehand, and she even met him for a brief minute before leaving us to our date.  He was 29, and worked in finance at a prestigious firm in the city.  He seemed intelligent, charismatic, polite, and looked cute in his pictures.

We talked about our families, our jobs, our friends, and my program at university.  I had one glass of wine, and he had two beers.  It was a bank holiday Monday (Labor Day) and so the pub closed pretty early.  He asked if I wanted to come back to his flat, where he lived with 5 other flatmates, for another drink.  I said yes, because I was having a nice time.  Although apparently saying yes to this question has a bad rep, for some men and women, this actually doesn’t have to mean anything besides wanting to have another drink and continuing time with this person.  BTW.

We left the pub and he ordered a cab because it was too far to walk.  When I began to chat with our cab driver (a favorite pastime of mine and my sister’s – great cultural opportunity!) he was out-rightly rude to him.  It irked me a little – I cannot tell you how strongly I disrespect someone who doesn’t treat a person in the service industry properly.  There is no better sign of character.  Anyways, as soon as this started happening, I started to get that bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, you know, when you start to feel a little nauseous, because you know something is just “off”?

We pull up in front of a building in the middle of a block in central London that looks totally normal, just like a normal apartment building, with the number on the door.  We walk in, and still, just like a normal apartment building – some doors, some mailboxes, some stairs.  We walk up the first flight of stairs, and come to a small chamber at the landing – a desk, with an open window.

This is because we are not in an apartment building.  We are in England’s version of a motel.

He gives the clerk his last name, because he has a reservation.  A reservation people.  Because apparently this was something he had planned.

Words cannot even describe my shock value here.  I won’t even bother to try, except for repeating the facts, that he had said we were going back to his flat for a drink, which was supposedly not too far from the pub, because we both lived locally.  Supposedly.

Here comes the scary part for me to admit to internet-land:

Although I was shocked, and starting to feel slightly terrified about the situation, I was so worried about being rude and feeling embarrassed in front of the hotel clerk, I didn’t say anything (at least not right away).

Tina Fey’s brilliant Netflix series “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” begins with such a witty, interesting, and what I believe to be very truthful commentary from Matt Lauer on The Today Show, where he interviews women who (in the show) have been falsely held captive for most of their lives.  He says, “I’m always amazed at what women will do, because they’re afraid of being rude”.

Whether anyone else believes that to be true, I can’t tell you how much I felt that being in this situation – and how stupid I feel because of it looking back.

After we walked away from the clerk, I felt brave enough to say:

“I’m sorry – I’m so confused…I thought we were going back to your flat??”  And he explained, saying that because he had so many flatmates, he thought we would just have better “alone time” being at a hotel.  There are so many things wrong with this statement, but the biggest, and most important part, is that he didn’t ask or tell me that this was what was happening.

I told him that I was sorry, but I actually just needed to go home.

His response?

“Are you fucking kidding me?  I fucking paid for this you fat bitch!”

His personality all of a sudden became clear, and it was a complete 180 degrees from the person I had just had a drink with at the pub.  All of a sudden the reality of the situation flooded through me.  I did not know this person at all.  I didn’t know his parents names or his best friends.  I couldn’t remember the company he worked for.  I didn’t know where he lived.  I didn’t know what neighborhood I was in.  I didn’t know the name of the hotel.  No one – no one – knew where I was, or who I was with.  It was seriously like I was in some awful movie and things were moving in slow-motion.  And it was completely, fucking scary.

How did I respond?

With silence.

I turned around, and literally ran down the stairs, outside, and around the corner, and thank God there was an uber just one minute away.

This man called me 18 times in a row after I left, with text message after text message that said, “You fat bitch.  You’re such a fat fucking bitch.”  I never responded or picked up the phone calls, and that same night I finally blocked him on my phone, where then he moved over to calling and texting on WhatsApp, before I blocked him there as well.

How do I wish I could have responded?

“You actually don’t know anything about me, so let me help you out:

I am the daughter of Paul and Michelle, two loving parents, who have raised me to try my best and work hard at things that are important, like school, a career, and friendships.  Sometimes I take off one pant-leg, and sit there for 15 minutes before I take off the other.  My sister is my best friend and the coolest, strongest, most bad-ass person I know – she makes me want to be a better person every day, and helps me focus my attention on the people in my life who truly deserve it.  I let old coffee cups get moldy in my room for a month.  I have more amazing friends than I deserve, from so many different locations and stages of life.  I don’t wash my sheets often enough.  I am creative, and love to do things that make people feel special.  I take things too personally, and am not good at letting go.  I am smart, and passionate about music, events, dance, literature, fashion, and prosecco.  I worry too much about being proper or following etiquette, and sometimes that keeps me from having fun or being honest.  YEP, I don’t work out enough, and I don’t eat as healthy as I should, but I am bright like fucking glitter, and bubbly like champ-fucking-agne, and if after all of that, I’m FAT too?????  Well fucking good-for-me!  Also, tell your Mother I said hi!”

But I didn’t say that.  I couldn’t.  Would it have been smart to say those things?  To take the time stuck in that situation?  I really, really wish I had been brave enough to say something like that.  But the truth is, it’s not realistic when you find yourself in a situation where you feel unsafe.

When I look back on it, not only do I feel anxiety about experiencing this, but I also feel curiosity about this very strange concept of “fat”shaming.  Why, WHY would someone feel like “FAT” is the worst insult a woman could receive?  Trust me, there are many,

M A N Y, other truer insults that could apply to me before someone telling me that I’m fat.  Here are some other interesting examples, exposed by one of my favorite Instagram accounts (@byefelipe) of other people who think this is an acceptable practice in online dating:

I cannot attempt to explain this phenomena, or why anyone would think it would be effective in attempting to meet someone (no matter what definition of “meet” you’d like to use).   What the hell does being fat, if that’s even true, have anything to do with who you actually are as a person?   While these examples are all situations where this happens to women, there is no doubt in my mind that this type of unkindness happens just as often to men.

This online dating process that has slowly become the norm for singles brings on an added level of complexity – anonymity.  I suppose this is just a symptom of the internet, because you don’t just see it with dating, but also in cyber-bullying in every other environment you could think of.  I wish I could understand why the people who act this way don’t choose kindness, and how saying something unkind actually helps them to feel better about themselves (which is doubtful).  When I experience these situations or hear about them from friends, I always think: “Who RAISED these people?”.   Surely all of these people weren’t raised in a barn (that’s what my mother would say), so then I wonder…is it us?  Is it our society who has taught us all that this behavior is acceptable, and works?

Or more importantly, I wonder…how can we change it?

I can’t explain the reasoning from the people who choose to use these statements as a weapon, but I can, however, say that it’s unacceptable.  That no one, absolutely no one, deserves that kind of disrespect.  That no one deserves to feel small, ever, for anything, when the person has just met you, and doesn’t know you at.all.  That no one ever deserves to feel unsafe on a date, where they’re just trying to meet someone cool.  That no one deserves to be brought to a hotel, without agreeing to it, on a first date – or any date, actually.  That no one ever deserves to feel unworthy simply because they’re not interested in you.  That no one ever deserves to feel like they’re not already fan-fucking-tastic all by themselves.

I had the major benefit of talking this out with a few friends, where we talked about the topic of fear vs. shame.

How a person who acts this way counts on you to either have enough fear to continue in the situation, or have enough shame not to talk about it.

Looking back on this situation, although I wish I could have said all those things, the actual fear doesn’t bother me.  The “fear” I felt helped me to eventually leave, and kept me rational and smart in a situation that potentially could have escalated.

And the shame?

I refuse to have it. 

For anyone who has ever felt badly about themselves as the result of a romantic interest:

For anyone who has ever had someone made them feel like they weren’t worth something:

For anyone who has ever felt like they were less-than:

I wrote this for YOU.  Because you ARE worth something great.  Because you DO deserve to be treated with respect.  Because you are a HUMAN BEING who is completely FABULOUS.

Maybe I can’t understand why someone would act this way, or how they came to believe it was acceptable to act this way, but I CAN write this blog post to try to help change those thoughts.

Also – abs are nice, but have you ever tasted donuts?  And BTW, Amy Schumer, Taylor Swift, and Emma Watson told us we all have this little thing called “inner-beauty” – and I’m pretty sure that yours, and mine, fucking rocks- even if it does take us 15 minutes to take off our pants sometimes.

“You’re stronger and you’re better and you’re ready for whatever.”

So, apparently:

This is why I’m (fat,) single, (and shameless).